


At Poe's Masquerade

by disco_agidyne



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 10:31:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12479548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disco_agidyne/pseuds/disco_agidyne
Summary: He arrived at the ball with a mission, but as the night wore on, his heart was clouded with doubt.[Warning: Major spoilers]





	At Poe's Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for P5 spoilers + non-graphic violence.

The clock tower chimed six as Akechi slid the gun into the pocket hidden on the inside of his vest. The chime rang clear through his meager hole of a home. On his table laid a mask and an invitation, both glittering with the evening sunset resting upon them.

 _‘Don’t screw this up,’_ the man had said when he slid the bullet and the envelope across the desk.

One shot.

That was fine.

It was all he needed.

Even if he failed, a second bullet wouldn’t save him. He knew that much already.

He wouldn’t fail.

He couldn’t fail.

He watched his reflection in the mirror as he tied up his hair, lips tight and eyes determined. He put on his mask and his overcoat, adjusted his gloves, and took the invitation from the table.

Seven chimes, and the ball was in full swing when he arrived at the gates. Akechi flashed the invitation and a smile, and easily passed through. He tucked the invite away and continued on, greeting the folks whose masks he could see through and exchanging inane pleasantries.

“Have you seen the prince this evening?”

“Not yet.” Akechi laughed. “Should he grace us with his presence, I’d like to meet him.”

His eyes swept over the crowd, and though the room was wide, adorned with decorations of silk and gold fit for a king, and the party was lively, its air filled with music and laughter, there was no prince of any sort to be seen.

“I’m sure he’ll show. He has to be fashionably late. Royalty, you know.”

“Wouldn’t one expect a good leader to be punctual?”

“Not to his own gala. Besides, I hear his outfit was absolutely stunning at the last one.”

“I look forward to seeing it then.”

The woman excused herself and passed by him, arms open for her friend who’d just arrived. He watched them embrace with a thin smile.

He stood alone in the crowded room, conversations like static in his ears. He gave the gun on his breast a pat and let the needles in his chest push him deeper into the party.

Half a glass of wine later, the clock struck eight. Akechi swirled the other half around, admiring the way the lights made the deep red sparkle and watching the people behind him in the reflection of the glass.

“He likes to make us wait, doesn’t he?” he asked.

His nerves remained, though dulled by the alcohol.

“He certainly does.”

A woman from the scene in the glass approached his side. He turned to her and gave her a small bow in greeting, gold tassels hanging loose from his shoulders.

“Spare me,” she said, hands folded at the front of her midnight blue gown.

“I apologize if I offended you, Miss.”

She wore a sad smirk.

“If you sincerely mean that, then surely you’d agree to a dance.”

“That’s an odd request to make of someone that’s wronged you.”

“It wasn’t you that wronged me.”

He tried to read her expression through her mask, but found it impossible with the way its intricate butterfly design hid all but her mouth, even her eyes.

“I see,” he said at last. “One dance is no trouble.”

He set his glass on a table at the edge of the hall, and they made their way to the floor. One hand on her shoulder and the other at her waist, he led her in a waltz as the band drew elegant melodies from taut strings.

“So you’re waiting for the prince?” she asked.

“I have some business with him, yes.”

“Don’t we all?”

He indulged her with a small chuckle.

“You too, then, I take it?”

She considered his words for a couple steps.

“No, I believe my business with him is done, for tonight at least.”

“So you’ve seen him.”

She smiled.

“Many times.”

“I never expected to meet someone so close with him.” He paused, and laughed softly to himself. “But maybe I should have, at his own ball.”

“Do we seem that close?”

“You certainly know him better than I do. I’ve yet to meet him.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Though her smile lingered, he couldn’t decipher it through the mask.

“How so?”

Her hand slid down from his shoulder to his breast, only to be snatched up by his own hand, and their dance was brought to a halt.

“I’m rather talented at reading hearts.”

His heart pounded hard against the hot metal nestled between his borrowed clothes as the other couples continued the waltz without them.

He laughed it off.

“I’m afraid I have no desire for such things tonight.”

“Such a bold assumption.”

“Am I mistaken?”

“You have your sights set on someone else, no?”

He thought to question her, but instead followed her gaze over his shoulder, and turned around to the stairwell to see the prince himself, clad in bold blacks and striking reds, gold and silver glinting from the edges of his mask, descending the steps to greet his guests.There were guards at his sides, scanning the crowd with bright faces that said they were looking forward to the festivities themselves.

Akechi’s grip tightened.

“Am I mistaken?” she echoed back at him, and even through the mask, she seemed a bit smug.

He turned back to her, but just as soon as he did, she spun him around and gave him a gentle push.

He took a few steps, then looked back once more. She was gone.

His chest felt heavy.

“Excuse me.”

When he turned back, the prince stood before him.

“I believe this area is for dancers only,” the prince said, a gentle smile spreading over his face. He gestured to the space outside of the circling guests, his right guard nodded and backed out of their path of vision.

Akechi was taken aback, but quickly regained his composure, and met the prince with a bow.

“If I may be so bold, Your Highness, who says we aren’t dancing?”

He held out his hand between them. Behind his mask, the prince blinked, and his lips parted, but then they came together in a grin.

He laid his hand in Akechi’s, the crimson of his gloves standing out against white leather it rested in.

“Please, call me Akira.”

He waved his guards away. They glanced at each other, then did as they were told, heading to the edges of the dancefloor.

Akira put his hand on Akechi’s waist and pulled him back into the rhythm of the crowd around them, wiping confidence from his face for a couple bars.

“Expecting rejection?”

There was a cockiness to Akira’s voice, and a playful glint in his eye. Akechi met it with a wry smile.

“Not exactly.”

His thumb fumbled with the fringe on Akira’s shoulder.

“You’re not all talk, are you?”

He glanced toward the red hand on his waist.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be so forward.”

Akira laughed, the details of his mask shining.

“I could say the same for you.”

Akechi raised his eyebrows and tilted his head.

“I suppose you could.”

“Someone asking me for the first dance, that’s rare.”

“Royalty can be intimidating.”

Akira’s smirk grew. Akechi smiled back politely.

“So you don't think I'm intimidating?”

“I never said that.”

Akira chuckled softly.

“And yet…”

One song ended and another began. A few members of the crowd watched them with sidelong glances, but Akira didn't seem to mind them, letting his fingers linger under Akechi’s palms as they drifted apart.

“One more?” Akechi offered, ignoring gazes fixed to his back, but feeling a small spark of excitement at the thought of monopolizing the prince's time.

He was answered with bright eyes shining under dark bangs and a gentle tug at his waist.

And though feeling a bit warm and lightheaded about it, Akechi too reached for the hips before him.

They remained together for hours, so engrossed in each other's words that the songs all ran together like raindrops in the background. Others had tried to steal the prince's attention, wishing for their own turns, only to be turned away with a weak excuse, many of which were given without even a polite acknowledgment of the other’s presence. Some went away quietly, some sulked, some threw a fit until the guards stepped in, but all the while, the prince and his partner didn't once let go of each other.

Once their conversation faded away, leaving only goofy shy smiles in its place, Akira swept back a loose lock of Akechi’s hair, and leaned in close, letting their foreheads meet.

Akechi's hand fell from Akira’s side to his own, where it hung, stiff and clenched tight.

“Let's get out of here.”

Something rattled in Akechi's chest, and he couldn't tell if it was his heart or the gun.

“Are you serious?”

“I'm always serious.”

Akira smirked at him, and he smirked back, knowing full well that was a lie.

“Alright,” he said with a confident nod that hid the way his gut fluttered and his heart pounded. Akira nodded back.

“Gotta lose the guards. Follow me.”

Akira led him from the main floor and dashed through the crowd, his hand tightly gripped around Akechi’s wrist. Akechi kept up the pace, slowly reaching Akira’s side. They smiled at one another, and the hand on Akechi’s wrist slid into his own, fingers intertwining.

They ducked behind a stairwell and watched the guards run past. Breathing hard and hearts thumping, they exchanged glances, laughed off their nerves, and left their hiding spot to find a new one atop the stairs.

As they climbed Akechi watched the prince's vulnerable, unguarded back, wishing their fates had been different and that the doubt trapped in his ribs would subside.

They took off down the second floor corridor, weaving between the guests and waving casual apologies to the ones they nearly collided with. As they ran with matching grins and locked hands, the crowd slowly dwindled, and they were able to pull away into a private room. Akira closed the door behind them, twisting the key in the lock, then dropping it back into his breast pocket. Akechi crossed the room and pushed open the doors to the balcony, wide eyes taking in a picturesque view of the countryside beyond the city and a night sky that had been glittered with white and gold stars.

Akira came up behind him, gently bumping Akechi’s shoulder, then leaning on the stone rail to take in the view.

“This side of the kingdom is so beautiful,” Akechi said, joining Akira against the railing. “It's easy to forget about it, living in the city.”

Akira’s fingers traced the patterns etched in the stone.

“Beautiful, huh?” Akira’s smile faltered. Akechi turned to him, only to see him staring out into the distance.

“You don't think so?”

Akira's smile twitched back.

“It could use some improvements. Everywhere could.”

Akechi watched him for a moment, the din of the party filling the silence, then laughed.

“You must have some high standards.”

Akira shrugged, then pushed himself up from the railing.

“I'll admit it looks a little more beautiful than usual.”

He settled his hand back at Akechi's waist, and at the gentlest tug, the two were back in each other's arms, feet drawing slow patterns on the moonlit ledge. Neither spoke, listening for the music they'd left so far behind.

As the distant song came to a close, Akechi’s chest grew heavy with heartbeats and steel. Akira twirled him around to fall backwards into his bosom, and then, as Akechi hesitated at the sensation of Akira's heat wrapped around him, Akira let him go.

As Akechi spun back into the evening chill, he reached for the gun.

The clock bell tolled over the gunshot. In an instant, Akira had thrown out his hand before the bullet, a pocket watch glinting in his palm. In one swift movement, Akira pulled away and deflected the bullet into the night, shards of glass falling from the clock face.

The twelve chimes continued, each heavier than the last.

Beneath his mask, Akira smirked.

“Gotcha.”

Teeth grit with frustration and disbelief, Akechi charged forward with a piercing madness in his eyes and tense desperation pulling his features tight. He swung the gun at Akira’s neck only to have his arm intercepted and wrenched around behind his back. His gun clattered against the stone, and a new one clicked behind him and dug into the space between his shoulders.

Akira shoved Akechi against the railing and leaned in close.

“I've got some bad news for you,” he said, breath falling on Akechi’s ear. “I'm not the prince.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is heavily inspired by the song Cendrillon by Signal-P & orange. I love stories in vocaloid songs, and I've always wanted to write a fic based on one.
> 
> Also ngl I just really really really wanted to write proficient as fuck Akira deflecting bullets with a pocket watch. That was my true goal here. I don't care if it's unrealistic; it's fuckin badass, man.
> 
> Thank you to Angevon and Signs for proofreading + suggestions!


End file.
